Luna's Summer Project
by Money Multiplier
Summary: Snape was supposed to be dead. When his reappearance coupled with the mysterious mass grave disappearances, he reluctantly had to join forces with the maddest of the journalists, Xenophilius Lovegood and his beatific daughter Luna. /Set after Deadly Hallows/
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello dear readers! I'm very excited for this fic, since Luna and Snape are my favorite characters. I hope to make this a lighthearted, sweet story -as sweet you can make things with Snape involved- with lots of Xenophilius madness. I never wrote something like this though, so we'll see how it goes. Anyway, onwards, to the story!

 **Chapter 1**

In the silent graveyard, a lonely tombstone stood well away from the others. The stone was slightly crooked, much like the man it belonged to, and it was guarded by an old hazel tree, the long shadows cradling it in a gentle fashion.

The sun was setting, and the birds were leaving their premises. The critters had stopped singing, they seemed to be holding their breath. The breeze that had been playing with the gleaming weathercock of the church died down, and a deadly stillness seemed to grip the graveyard.

Upon that sad lonely grave, a steely grey rune, sharp and severe, appeared out of nowhere. Then the grass above started to loose its volume and color. They rotted away and gave way to the dark damp earth that had started to cave in on itself. At first, a thin line of crack appeared, over the course of minutes, it continued to grow wider and wider; the excess soil puddling at the edges of the grave.

Identical cavities seem to appear over other sleeping denizens, and soon all of the graves were opened and the coffins inside were peaking out.

And one by one, they burst open, and the ones who were one dead, walked again.

They rose as skeletons, bounded by nothingness and forged by death. Slowly but surely their empty skin knit together, blood and color returned to their cheeks; and the clothes they were buried with stretched over their bare skin, particles surging up from the bottom of their coffins.

Among them in his simple white shirt, Snape trailed brokenly behind the others, his dead eyes glassy and grey.

He was many ways away from the horde, much like his grave had been, and the bushes under an apple tree was lagging him further more. He tripped and fell, as thorny little hands clung to his thin trousers. His half formed hair swinging forwards, he slammed his forehead into the thick trunk of the tree with a bang. His dead body stilled and it slid down in a slack, bean bag fashion, and the bloodless gaping wound in his neck stretched open under the tension. A flicker of pain registered in his eyes, along with a dim light of understanding.

Others did not notice his predicament, even their ability to do so was questionable, and they trickled out of the cobbled pathway of the churchyard.

They left through an iron wrought gate, moaning and scuttling; and he was left his own.

Before long he reacted. He groaned miserably, and jerked up. He pivoted around, freeing himself from the jumble of bushes, and lay unconscious on the evenly cut grass.

Then, just the way it left, life returned to the graveyard, and the first brave beetle twittered mechanically.

oo00oo

It was long after midnight, when he regained his wits once more.

He gazed up into the starry night, barely registering them. His eyes gradually moved away to the dark flickering lights on the horizon, and towards the silhouettes of dark tombstones marking the land, deeply confused.

He remembered dying. There at the Shrieking Shack, drowning in his own blood and irony; that bitter sensation mixing with the realization that it was where he once nearly died before. The Dark Lord's image curling and merging with Lily's eyes.

He straightened, forcing his sore muscles up, deliberating the situation. He cooled his head and concluded that he was being completely bonkers, that he wasn't dead. The dead did not come back. Not like this, he added to himself, bitterly remembering the Inferi under the disposal of the Dark Lord.

Obviously, someone had managed to save him. But who would help him?

Could it be Potter?

No, that was ridiculous. Potter wouldn't be able to pull off something like that. Besides he would rather have him dead and gone as dust than to let him live and breath. The hatred Snape had felt for him had been reciprocal. In his mind he imagined Potter reveling in triumph and disgust now that he knew what Snape harbored for his- Snape flushed in humiliation. And for a second he let himself bathe in self-hatred.

But his self-absorbed feelings did not last long as another thought sobered him up, almost making him feel guilty.

Potter was dead. Either way, whether the Order failed or not, he was destined to die. It meant Snape had failed Lily once again, unsurprisingly, and he had lost his one last lifeline.

He closed his hand down on his neck protectively, as a tremor of vulnerability traveled up his spine. His fingertips grazed the puffy, fleshy texture. He gulped heavily, and momentously felt a jolt of fear that his spit would pour out of his scar; because he thought, no, he _knew_ it had opened again, and he knew it had tortured him before he lost consciousness. There should've been blood here, the blood should have been everywhere really, but his hands only came into contact with dry, papery skin, baffling his perceptions.

He needed information: he needed to know whether the Dark Lord failed, he needed to know if everything he had schemed with Dumbledore had been for naught.

He got up shakily, his knees nearly giving up underneath him, making him feel much older he really was. Concentrating he tried to Apparate to London without his wand, his magic stirred beneath his skin but did not respond, making him clench his jaw in frustration. He tried again and again, until he was panting for breath and a monstrous headache throbbed in the back of his head.

Resigning to his fate, he sidled down the hill towards where he could see lights signaling civilization, unknowingly leading himself towards the small town of Ottery St Catchpole.

oo00oo

When he tumbled down the hills into a neglected, bush infested garden, Snape knew he had made a mistake. The house he had reached had the most peculiar architectural design, and he did not mean that as a compliment. It looked sort of like a tall winding cylinder with a protruding wood compartment in its middle, obviously added after the construction, completed with a large crescent shaped alem on the top. But the peculiarities did not end here: the wild looking garden sported many ungainly looking weeds, though some of them assured him that this was certainly a wizarding residence, even as potion master he did not recognize most plants, which to a certain extent disturbed him. Then springing from both sides, there were overgrown shrubs of violently saturated colors, glaring against his eyes even in the dead of the night, decorated with quicksilver Christmas ornaments.

Stumbling up into the lane that was half covered in foliage, Snape reached a small dainty door, his hands hesitating over the magicked knocker in the shape an eagle. He stood there in the doorway, the warm light that seeping from the corners illuminating his face despondently, as the knocker squawked impatiently.

He knocked. No answer came. And he knocked harder, the resonating sounds of conversing people did not comfort him the least.

He really ought to just leave. He didn't know who these people were, they could be damaging to his agenda, he wasn't even sure-

But before he could dart back to formulate a more wholesome plan, the door creaked open revealing a blonde young lady with ghastly bulging eyes, around the appropriate age for a Hogwarts student. He recognized her: it was Ms Lovegood, he had taught her for five years.

She also seem to recognize him as well, and not in a good way, if her shocked pale visage was to go by anything. She stared at him blankly, almost as if she was in a trance, and Snape, ever the gentleman, resisted the urge to snap at her feeble-mindedness.

Suddenly, a washed off man with tangled hair burst down the spiraling stairs, calling, "Luna, dear, who is it?" He did an exuberant, showy spin at the last steps; and turned towards the duo where he seemed to freeze in his place like his daughter, processing whom had arrived. Just when Snape was going to ask what was so fascinating, the man erupted in gales of nonsense, and his eyes lit up feverishly, alarming Snape.

"The dead, the dead is back! It is true, it is true! Pillingsworth was right! The end is near! Rowena, no, no, no," he darted back up the stairs sobbing, "Close the door, Luna! We can't let them in! The charm, where is that charm-" His voice trailed off in the distance, accompanied by his furious footsteps that echoed in the foyer.

Ms Lovegood looked startled, staring after her father. She glanced back at Snape then at the steps the man had disappeared once more, and seem to make up her mind. With a affable expression, she gently voiced a question, "Professor Snape, is that really you?

"Yes, of course it is me Ms Lovegood," he gritted out, his composure slowly being chipped away by fatigue and the mad greeting, "I did not meant to intrude, but I would like to use your floo network, if its possible. I apologize, if I came in an inconvenient time."

Her forehead puckered, the glance she sent him was pitying.

"Sir," she started slowly, as if she were talking to a rabid animal, "You have been dead for a year."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, liked, or followed!

This chapter is longish, so I apologize in advance for any typos or awkward sentences. I hope you'll like it!

 **Edit:** There were some spelling mistakes, I corrected them.

 **Chapter 2**

"Dead," Snape retorted, his face twitching.

The girl ushered him inside, saying "You must not talk so loudly here, sir, Nargles are very sensitive to loud noises."

"Well, I-" he sputtered.

"We have been making new homes for them, they really like vibrant colors, you see," she said as she advanced on him.

Then, she cornered Snape into a ragged brown sofa, where he had no other choice other than sitting down: lest he wanted the girl to invade his personal space.

"Can you elaborate on what you said?" he said twitching, jumping up slightly when a loose spring pinched his leg. He opted to perch at the edge of the sofa after that, looking at the girl expectantly.

She smiled; with her airy expression, it looked as if she was drugged with something, "It takes time to get used to them constantly being around but if you smear enough grape juice on the doorways they usually leave-"

"I meant the part about my death, Ms Lovegood." His hand instinctively gripped the handrest impatiently.

"Oh," her mood deflated, she looked somber once again, "Yes, you've been announced dead. You were found in the Shrieking Shack, a few hours after the battle. Harry was very sad, we all were. He worked very hard to clear your name. They buried you in Godric's Hollow, but they had to move you to another graveyard, I heard." Snape's eye twitched and she continued on the same track as though they were talking about weather, "So, how did you managed to return, sir? You don't look like a ghost. You feel almost like the voices I hear, just behind the veil, perhaps-"

 _The veil, the curtain that will explain all once it is drawn._

The girl's voice faded into the distance, and a vein of static assaulted his senses. Images of bleak ashen hills and white thin trees blinked in and out. He felt his own despair dragging him down, and a pair of hands flashed out of the darkness, beckoning him closer, with incoherent mutters of swirling around it. Scribbles of the same one rune scratched open his flesh, filling his mouth and ears with dark ink; burning and filling his lungs and drowning him. It was worse than anything he felt before, as if he was forcefully stuffed with thin rods of icicle.

And he was pulled down and down and down into the earth, until he was back in the living room with the girl. He shoulders caved in, his hair obstructing his ashen face. A dim grey light flashed in his eyes.

"-sometimes I can feel my mother around me-"

Snapping back up with an uncontrolled anger in his eyes, Snape thundered out of the blue, "Girl! What possesses you to lie in such a way?" His mouth twisted unpleasantly when she merely blinked at him; and he continued, paying no mind to the deafening crash from upstairs, "Do you think it will wound me in some way? Do you really think I'd credit something like this?"

She did not seem visibly offended by his rudeness, in fact, she did not seem to be affected at all by any emotion. A blissful blankness he envied had taken a control her demeanor, "I am not lying sir. My father and I keep archives of Quibbler, I can show you the corresponding article."

He sneered at her words, "Enchanting, Ms Lovegood. But if you are done spewing nonsense, perhaps you will tell me something worthy of my time. The Dark Lord, girl, was he vanquished?"

"Yes, Harry defeated him."

"Defeated- You talk as if he were living by then."

"Oh, yes," Ms. Lovegood replied, "He was dead for a while, but he came back, much like you did."

"I see," Snape said flintily, deeming that it was futile to try to persuade her to talk rationally. Nevertheless, he felt his shoulders relax bit by bit, knowing now the boy was still alive. But it was short lived a moment later, he frowned, his mind continuing to follow on that thought. Since Potter still lived, that meant the last bits of the Dark Lord was still alive. He didn't know why this was the case but the prophesy had dictated so.

Somewhere, hiding in the darkness, Voldemort still lurked on.

Snape tensed.

Surely, he wasn't the only person privy to that information. Dumbledore would've made sure that the boy would know about his fate. But Dumbledore had died -Snape had taken care of that-, and Potter had been frolicking around in the wilderness alone. He might have backed off: scared of death.

Snape adam's apple bobbed up and down. He couldn't- he couldn't possibly kill the boy himself. Not Lily's boy; no matter how much he hated him. No matter how much it was needed.

Looking at the girl's golden hair and beyond, he felt the same dry anxiety that assaulted him many times during his short lived position as Headmaster. The one that made him sit blankly in his seat when he was supposed to be down in the corridors, protecting the stupid children from the cruelty of the Carrows.

What was he supposed to do, then?

He closed his eyes and banished his thoughts under an empty mask. He'd think about that later.

"Is there a floo station nearby, Ms. Lovegood? Or any other wizarding residence?"

"I don't think that is a good idea. You might not be well received-"

"Thank you for your input, but I'll be the judge of that."

She regarded him with her bulging eyes, her head tilting to a side quizzically, "There are the Weasleys down the hills up north. Ginny is nice, she might help you. But there is something-"

But he was already up and going, not particularly interested in further discussion. He had his share of stupidity for a single day. He needed to find Potter, and set things right. And truthfully, he had to speak with Minerva too. He owed her at least an explanation. It was going to be a headache persuade her to believe him though, and he did not look forward to the confrontation.

Following him behind his heels, Ms Lovegood tried to explain again, "Sir, there has been a problem with graveyards, the bodies have been missing-"

"Farewell, Ms Lovegood," he drawled in a droll tone as he reached the front door.

He had just opened the front door, and let the crisp night air billow in, when the elder Lovegood gripping something tightly in one hand and his wand in the other barged down towards them. Snape couldn't have cared less about it if his limbs had not suddenly snapped together, bound by invisible robes.

Snape fell down with the grace of a cooked duck, his face squashing against the stone entryway. His loud cursing drowned the girl's cry of, "Daddy!"; and he struggled, fighting against the spell, even though he knew it was futile. He twisted his head out from its uncomfortable position, baring his teeth against the imbecile, just in time to see a flash of wet blue leave Xenophilius Lovegood's gloved hand.

It soared above Ms. Lovegood, and with surprising accuracy spattered all over his right cheek. Immediately all sensation in his face dulled and the goo started drilling in, feeling its way to his mouth.

Snape recognized the musky smell in the few seconds before he lost his ability to do so. It was a Cavephosphor; invisible to muggles, they haunted the ceilings of the most moist caves near the ocean. And they were poisonous, just like the words that on the tip of Snape's lax tongue, used as a base for many poisons.

Snape was drowning on his own spit, but his eyes still burned up like hot coals as he glared at the other man. Xenophilius flinched.

The girl was, however, much more competent and sensible than her father. Within minutes she managed to get the charm lifted and stuff the creature into a sugar jar, safely away from Snape. His body, on the other hand, had lost the ability to feel the limbs on the right.

The rest of the night was kind of a blur to him. He was carried to the same sofa by Ms Lovegood, and after Snape slurred in anger that _he most definitely not wanted that idiot anywhere near him_ , she asked her father to make tea for "Professor Snape". She then handled his foul mood and paralysis with a serene grace. When Snape was calmer with fully functional limbs, and a hot warming cuppa was set beside him; Ms Lovegood approached the subject one again.

"Sir think you should take a look at the news."

Snape felt a rush of hatred for the girl, he could barely speak but the girl was trying pushing the same idiotic conspiracy down his throat. He tried to growl, but only a pathetic groan broke out. Weary, he let his head fall against the sofa; tiredness catching up with him finally.

"I'll be back in a jiffy, sir."

Snape rolled his eyes. He honestly didn't care anymore.

The girl was back with handful of magazines, all colored in obscenely bright. She placed them in front of him, and he glared at the pile sourly.

But, it might be useful to glean at a couple of them. He needed information anyway.

Snape picked up the first magazine, his hands stilling when he saw the date, it was 10th of June 1998.

"What-" he started. They were still in 1997.

Weren't they?

"That is the latest copy," the girl explained, but Snape paid her no heed, too intent on understanding what was going on.

He reached for another one, this one dated July 1997, and read the title, _"Dark Lord Vanquished! Harry Potter is Victorious!"_ and as a subtitle it read, _"The Souls Lost in Battle of Hogwarts, third page"._ Snape nearly ripped the pages apart in his hurry.

There under all the other names he knew and recognized lied his own name, Severus Snape, under the category of Death Eaters.

He did not believe this. He went through the other issues, the public perception of him changing drastically until all he was devouring was ridiculous eulogies on his name and the embarrassing speculations on his motivations, and his friendship with- with Lily.

Of course he couldn't trust Potter with anything. He had blurted out everything. He was going to make that child pay for this denigration.

Snape crumpled up the page between his fist. No, he did not believe any of this.

His eyes were alive with emotion when he addressed Ms. Lovegood, "I wish to go to Daily Prophet's archives, is it possible for you to apparate me to Diagon Alley or to the ministry? I believe they have records there as well. I do not wish to use the floo." He did not want to be seen by anyone.

"Oh, yes I can, but I think you should stay for the night. My father can prepare the storeroom, can you father?"

"Yes, yes, I can," Xenophilius Lovegood, whom had been standing by the thin columns separating the living room from the kitchen, averted his eyes as he answered, "I'll get to it."

Ms. Lovegod continued, "I can get you in the Daily Prophet tomorrow, my dad frequently goes there for validation. I can even give you a cap, so you can conceal yourself." She smiled serenely.

Snape almost smiled back, "That would be lovely, Ms. Lovegood."

oo00oo

It was early morning, and on the silent second floor, Snape was wide awake. Sleep had not come to him that night in the small transfigured bed he was entrusted with. Cracking open the door of his temporary residence, he passed the hulking printing machine, and went down to the kitchen. There he was dismayed to find that, nobody was awake yet.

Snape hesitated to search for substance. Granted, the Lovegood's had been quite hospitable-ish, apart from the part where they paralyzed him which still caused his right leg some problems; and despite Snape's apparent rudeness they had opened a guest room for him. But, Snape still felt like an intruder, a little thief to be more specific, by poking around.

Sighing Snape dismissed his worries, preferring to focus on being useful. He opened and closed the cupboards for a teapot and inspected the jars for tea, generally making a lot of sound and ruckus. After a few minutes of struggling with the stove, he had a steaming pot of tea ready for him.

Snape reached for the jar labeled as _Sugar_ , intending to sweeten his tea. When he raised the lid, instead of seeing a hill of white clean sugar, he saw a bloated puddle of dark blue goo, blinking up at him with beady eyes. The bloody creature was still there.

Snape slammed the lid back down, looking at the counter with revulsion. Suddenly he did not want to drink the tea or consume anything that came from the kitchen.

Snape exited the kitchen, and moved to a concave bookshelf, fitted at the round wall. He one by one read the titles, _The Secret Life of the Pygmy Puff; How to Read the Mind of an Hag; The Truth about Cornelius Fudge: A Career of Malversation and Murder, by the account of a goblin;_ then there were a few biographies. Snape had never been a fan of that genre. He moved to skip them, but then he stopped.

Snape's eye caught the name Dumbledore. He removed the book from its place.

 _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ by _Rita Skeeter_ , glared at him in silver letters. Snape opened the book and wandered around the pages.

The words of _Dark Arts, domination, sister,_ and _Grindelwald_ mingled together. All designed to extract impunity, and the most ribald speculations.

Snape set the book down with an inflated weight in his chest, something he realized some might call a heavy heart. Dumbledore had used him, he knew. He used him ruthlessly and efficiently. He exploited his guilt and his pain. But none of it was anything that Snape couldn't say no to: if he wanted he could leave the instant his trial had been concluded. But, Snape stayed, and not because he was pressured into, but because he wanted to. Maybe it had damaged him, maybe it had squandered his life away, and maybe he had fallen into the deepest, darkest bitterness, but those had been his choice.

He was not a victim. Nor was he the knight in shining armor the media had painted him as. The only thing that victimized him had been his own choices. He wasn't the helpless puppet and Dumbledore hadn't been the evil master.

They had been friends, he and Dumbledore. Even though Snape had never acknowledged it verbally.

Snape closed his eyes to ward off a wave of bitterness. He hated this.

When Ms Lovegood appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a pink jumper with star shaped purple sunglasses perched on her head, Snape was about to throw the book out from a window.

Still quite distraught, Snape practically dragged the girl out of the building, without allowing her to have something for breakfast. With a sad, kicked look, Ms. Lovegood apparated them into the alleyway, next to the Daily Prophet. Snape tugged the sunshield of his cap down, and followed the girl up the polished marble stairs.

Inside, a large sunny hall of bustling wizards and witches greeted them, all dressed impeccably, making Snape uncomfortable under his dirty shirt. Ms Lovegood led him down a gold gilded door under the winding stairs, and they traveled down a long crowded corridor, until she stopped in front of a door, that was blatantly labeled as "Archives".

As they stepped in the room, Snape's eyes caught the glint of stiff golden curls and jeweled glasses, Rita Skeeter. He could not turn his head away faster. Even though he had promised to be composed he could not stop his lips from twisting in anger.

The girl stopped to talk with a man, and soon they were admitted to a spacious room, obviously extended with magic, where lines of thick tomes were sitting dormant in sturdy metal shelves. The man, Roberts, showed them where they could sit, and talk them the rules and they were alone.

Letting out a breath of relief, Snape took of the itchy cap, massaging his scalp.

"Let's get to it Ms. Lovegood," he said pointing the folders. They checked the labeled dates and soon found the folders containing the time of his death and beyond. Snape set them down at the table as Ms. Lovegood primly sat and started inspecting the articles.

Snape checked the mental list he had formed, and realized they had forgotten about the news just after his death. Muttering darkly about his stupidity, he set back it, and for a moment confused the rows. When he finally found the tome he needed, the door that ad been shut behind them safely opened with a creak.

Snape froze for a moment, before his hand shot up to feel unobstructed hair: he had left his cap in the table.

His hands gripping the folder tightly, sneaked near, to hear voices talking. He recognized the lilting pipes of Ms. Lovegood, but the new voice was one he did not particularly remembered. It did tickle his mind in a funny way though, as if he had heard it before. He came close enough to peek through the thin little gaps between the bookshelves to see Rita Skeeter lording over Ms. Lovegood.

Snape stifled a snarl. Why did it have to be her?

He slowly crouched, pressing his back against the side of the bookshelf, making himself as small as possible.

If she were to see him, which she very well could, she would have everyone in the wizarding world know about his presence by an hour. With Albus in mind, Snape was determined not to give that infernal woman any material that she could stick her dirty little quill in.

"And why are you here Ms. Lovegood? Do you need real news for your father's gazette? Does, what was that nonsense, Gurmple-Purple Nockercack not sell well?" she asked, disdain evident in her tone.

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Ms. Lovegood corrected under her breath.

Skeeter waved an airy hand to show how much she cared, "So what are you doing here, girl?"

"Oh, I'm here to help a friend. We had already gone over Quibbler's archives, but he wanted to research further. So we came here."

Snape closed his eyes, feeling an acute sense of doom. That girl was going to be the death of him.

"And where is that friend exactly?" Skeeter asked, her smug voice scratching at Snape's ears, "In your mind? Oh, you can be honest sweetie. Go on, you can tell me. It is no shame to imitate your betters, that's how you improve."

"No, no," the girl shook her head, her wispy hair flying about her head, "He is here with us. He is in the back now, looking for other folders," she gestured the mountain in the table, "But, I don't think he'll come by any time soon: he is a bit shy. Doesn't like strangers much."

Skeeter moved, and Snape could make out the silhouette of her head jutting up to survey the shelves hawkishly. Snape pressed himself further into the bookshelf. That bloody girl, what was she thinking? Why couldn't she lie and say she came alone?

"What are you doing here yourself, Madam Skeeter?" Ms. Lovegood asked, her eyes impossibly wide, and Skeeter's attention was diverted, "Are you looking for real news, as well?"

"No, certainly not. I work here Ms Lovegood. I just stopped by to check in with my dearest friend Roberts," she answered with a miffed expression, and she turned away to leave, her acid green spectacles catching light, "As it is, I am very busy at the moment. Adieu Ms. Lovegood."

"Goodbye," Ms. Lovegood called after her.

Then silence befall into the dusty room once more. Ms Lovegood started to scan the news once more, and Snape waited to hear the door creak that would signal that Skeeter was gone.

But the only thing he could hear was his own breathing and the sound of shifting paper. His eyes narrowed. He crept down the aisle, towards the door, and saw it to be open. His eyes traced the long orderly shelves, and he bared his ears for anything. No sound came.

Skeeter must have left it open when she came in and never bothered to close it again. He moved to close the door, as a beetle bug languidly traveled in. It was only when the door was shut firmly, and he was satisfied that they were alone, he let himself relax.

He glanced at down at their table and the hunched figure poring over the papers. Now that that was out of the way, it was time to address the other issue. He sneered.

Crossing the hall with long steady steps, he placed the folder down in front of her with a bang, and loomed over the girl with a mask of fury, "Pray, what exactly were you thinking?" he stopped for a moment for the dramatic effect, "No, you weren't thinking at all, weren't you?"

To his surprise, the girl actually glared at the offending folder, "I told the truth."

Snape's lips thinned. "Congratulations Ms Lovegood, you upheld your little moral code," his tone sharpened, "Do you know what kind of danger you put me? If she were to investigate, or even looked more closely at my way, she would've found me." He would've been hunted, or worse, experimented upon, but he prefered not to say them aloud.

"But she didn't," Ms. Lovegood pointed out, "And that's all that matters, sir." She placed an article in front of him, saying, "This might be of interest to you."

Still annoyed, Snape sat back, and sourly smoothed out the paper. The article in question covered most of the front page. He read the date to be May 17, 1998. His mood darkened further when he read the title.

 _' **The Walking Dead: Fiction or Deadly Apocalypse?**_

 _In today's issue of True Interviews, we are leaning on the recent reports of undead rising from ministry approved and protected wizarding graveyards has been troubling the wizarding community. Mr. Agnotius Pillingsworth, the self-proclaimed expert in necromancing history, has been kind enough to accept our invitation._

 _Pillingsworth, whose credibility has been many times speculated over the years, greets us with quiet grace and hospitality of an old English gentleman. Upon entering his humble abode, the amount of books and journals strikes us that he is a rather academically inclined man, and his steady speech reinforces our belief that he not a person who would make claims without proof._

 _Over a steaming cup of tea, and by our prodding, Pillingsworth regretfully confesses his worry of the current condition of the ministry regulation that blocked further research upon the disappearances, "I do not want to disturb the dead," he says, most gravely, "But, we must look upon the situation rationally; there obviously is an issue here. And sticking our head into the sand won't make it disappear as the ministry had preferred to do so with the new accessing policies it imposed on us. It has made my job very hard. I cannot access the right documents now to investigate the root of problem."_

 _We ask him what must be done then._

 _"The dead should be rounded up immediately, the ones that are still dying dormant," he reply, his eyes flashing with fervor, "The ones walking must be taken down and burned, unfortunately there is no other way around it. We need the best Aurors and people such as myself work together to put an end to this epidemic."_

 _We mention the families of the dead. A somber look crosses Pillingsworth's face, "It is regrettable but the ones that has been Raised forms an intimate relation with the Raiser, the medium that connects them to this world and the other. Once that bond is formed it is never severed, meaning even if we were to find the Necromancer and well- kill him, another one trained in the same art can exploit the same bond over and over."_

 _Troubled, we ask him who would do such thing. He only smiles raggedly._

 _"Someone very powerful," he says, "I have never seen or read about such a wide range of control in any wizard -or witch," he adds when we protest, "I am confident that this is the work of a single person. And it is almost unbelievable."_

 _We are a bit baffled as of how he is so sure._

 _"I have traced the magical imprint on the bodies connecting to a single hive mind. This is a clear indication of a single Overlord. I am sure that there is a single source."_

 _He smiles and continues, seeing our pale faces, "Don't worry, I am confident that I will find the source. If the ministry wishes to work with me, I am sure that we won't even remember this being a problem within say- two months. All I require is the right resources the Ministry now holds locked. I implore them to rethink their decision._

 _And finally he warns, "Right now, however, I urge wizards and witches to continue on to incinerate or report the undead to the Ministry as soon as they see them. This is of biggest importance."_

 _If there is such an outbreak, how must we protect ourselves, we ask him to elaborate._

 _Complete on page 2.'_

Snape looked up from the paper with a rotten taste in his mouth. This was going to put him in a tight situation, he could not imagine people being so tolerant of him with an inferi outbreak, never mind the fact, he was acting and breathing in the same way as them. He couldn't let himself be known.

Snape asked the girl to give him an article concerning his death, and he skimmed the similar eulogies he read in Quibbler, all mournful and exaggerated. They almost made him wish he had stayed dead, in order to not spoil the new heroic facade they had constructed for him. Almost. Mostly they reminded him how cowardly he was in reality.

That thought triggered a knee-jerk reaction, and a flash of anger at himself- _He was not a coward- He was- he was-_

He was nothing now. His life was gone, he could never return to it. He wasn't thinking in an abstract way either, all his savings were gone now, probably donated to Hogwarts. Even his disgrace of a house at Spinner's End was gone. He was penniless.

Snape sighed as the beetle from before soared above his head. He waved it away with a flick of his wrist; tempted to squash it under his palm like it was the source of all his problems. If they only were that easy to solve. He tugged the hat closer to his face, feeling the absence of his hair.

What was to become of him? Was he going to have to leech on the Lovegoods for the rest of his life? Or was he going to become a slave to an idiotic necromancer? Snape's mouth twisted. Both cases demanded he offed himself right now, swiftly.

He couldn't even make a living in the muggle world, he sneered at the idea, as he had no wand and no real qualifications to make up to the absence of one. He couldn't go and buy one himself, he'd be recognized immediately. Either he had to send one of the Lovegood's to purchase one for himself, or he had to brew Polyjuice. Which took a month to make, and the ingredients were expensive. But buying it prepared was even more so.

Was his fate going to be in the hands of two maniacs? Snape despaired.

Perhaps he could convince people he had simply been hiding in: he could have Lovegoods, or Potter -if the way the boy had talked about him in the newspapers was a cue- to back him up. But, that idea invoked the same amount of contempt he felt solely for Longbottom. He'd take the devil up with a proposal before asking Potter for help.

Lovegoods it is, he thought sourly. Even if it meant he had to act cordially towards Xenophilius Lovegood.

Snape addressed the girl, after a few minutes of cold silence, "Ms. Lovegood?"

The girl raised her head; she had been playing with the beetle, cooing over it for some reason, while the beetle was trying to stab her fingers with its tiny green horns. "Yes, Professor?"

"I'm ready to go back," he said, "I'm convinced."

"Alright," she replied, her wide eyes crinkling with a sad smile. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

Ah, yes. Snape had forgotten about that.


	3. Chapter 3

****Disclaimer:**** **I don't own Harry Potter.**

 ** **A/N:**** I apologize for the delay, I had a few health problems and midterms which really messed up my plans. But I want to update this story on a more regular basis. I have the plot planned up to a certain point so things should move along well after this chapter.

Also thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, they really make my day! I answered all of them to the best of my ability at the end of the chapter.

As always, I hope you like it!

 ** **Chapter 3****

They were in muggle London, walking down a busy street. They had left the Diagon Alley in a hurry, because Snape had wanted to escape the prying eyes of the wizarding world as soon as possible. He wanted to digest things in peace, if he can. There were many things he had to sort out.

Meanwhile, in the hustle and bustle, Snape didn't know where to start. He was dead. Or he had been at least. And frankly, he wasn't completely convinced of it yet. Indeed, he was missing for a year; and yes, maybe Potter did testify of his demise, but it did not necessarily mean that he had died for real. He was probably comotose for a while; as some snake species' poisons, in particular the coral snake that Nagini was, had a propensity to cause temporary paralysis.

Snape did not trust Potter's intelligence to recognize something so subtle, nor did he believe in the extreme metaphysical coincidences such as rebirth. The souls that left the earth did not come back. Necromancy only ensured that the corpse would move according to the will of the wizard, it did not grant them life: that was the first rule of Dark Arts. He'd have to visit this 'grave' of his, and investigate things himself. He had never credited the wizarding press before, especially not that rag Daily Prophet, and he wasn't going to start now.

Still though, he was dead for many people for so long. It was strange to it so. His life had ended, but their's moved on. He looked at his protruding red knuckles, and imagined it decaying and growing stiff; the sensation of dead and unmoving coming to him very easily. More easier than he was comfortable with.

This was going to take some time to get used to.

Resisting a groan, Snape rubbed his neck. The sun was scorching the back of it, aggravating skin uncomfortably. But, that was a minor issue next to what really gnawed on his nerves was Ms Lovegood right now. They had been trying to find somewhere for her to eat for about an half an hour, but she could not pick a place because of the most inane reasons he'd heard in his entire life.

She said the Indian restaurant gave off a bad infestation of nargles -Snape had to admit that it did not look extremely hygienic-, and claimed that the sandwich shop had a unpleasant color scheme. The Italian took the sun in the wrong position -indeed, the midday sun was rather harsh against the glass windows-, and she did not the smell of meat in one fast food restaurant, describing it as "a blend of suffering and salt", and the Turkish restaurant she felt more partial to was too crowded for Snape's taste.

"I am not going there Ms. Lovegood," he said with contempt, as he watched animated people waiting in line on the mouth of a small alleyway. Even the exterior of the shop was too cheery for him, the words _"Haci Usta Kebab"_ grinning wickedly in bold red letters. The smell of cooked meat was overwhelming. Snape's eyes watered.

The girl nodded wisely, like he had just said something very deep and intricate, "You are right; there is a bad omen," she gestured a squatting bird, hovering above the queue. It inclined its head towards them, and let out a razor thin screech, scaring the people below, "Let's go somewhere else."

Although he was more than happy to move on, Snape had never been a particularly superstitious man. Raving old tales were more of Dumbledore's expertise. "A bad omen," Snape repeated, his voice deceptively silky, "And what does a flying chicken mean exactly, Ms. Lovegood?"

Ms. Lovegood hesitated for a second. "I know they may not always be true, but I, well- it reminds me of things. Things I sometimes forget. Just like clear skys foretell that serene days will come even after darkest moments," she shrugged, "Buzzards, sir, are clever birds, but they've been hunted for many years and now their kind is nearly gone out. So they are always alert; they are the ones that the enemies are always watching. They remind me to be wary of unseen danger, especially when I am too-" she cut herself off, her tone a tick more unhappy. She was frowning at her silver bracelet, perhaps it was his imagination but for a moment he thought she looked somber, mournful even. When she shifted her wrist slightly, the metal hare blinked at Snape merrily. He averted his eyes.

"Continue to talk more like that and all you're going to get is a Tesco sandwich," he muttered under his breath, the darkness etched onto his features despite the sunlight.

Ms Lovegood, with a conscientiousness he did not think she possessed, changed the subject. "Let's eat there!" she pointed at the end of the street, "My mother used to take me there. Fish and chips was good, and I always named the food there. It tasted better that way."

Snape grunted noncommittally, as they barely avoided a speeding bus while crossing the street. He craned his neck to glare at the chauffeur. That bloody idiot was going to kill him before he was alive for two days.

Ms Lovegood continued, looking hesitant, "And since I have- I have her wand with me today, I think it is good luck to go there."

"You have her wand with you," Snape repeated slowly, frowning.

"Yes, since you don't have one yourself."

Snape looked at her sharply, sizing her up, "Am I to expect trouble, Ms Lovegood?"

"No no, sir," she said, her wide eyes popping out more, "It's just a precaution."

Snape pursed his lips. Chiding himself to be more polite to her, he asked sourly, "You were saying?"

"Oh, yes-" she started, licking her lips, "I think its nice to remember they were all alive once. I can be friends with them once I die."

"With the fish?"

She nodded cheerfully, "Soles are cute."

Snape snorted derisively, "How splendid, Ms Lovegood."

'Cute'. What nonsense.

"They might take me swimming then too," she said, her eyes glazing dreamily, "In fact, I go to Sidmouth occasionally for the same reason, there is a lovely coast there, and the fish are very friendly. Although, daddy thinks the sand is cursed by the local government. Everyone knows that they want to keep the coast to themselves but not many knew that it was because they wanted to illegally hunt the island-fish."

Taken off guard, Snape's forehead creased in confusion, "The what?"

"The island-fish. They are very rare, only mentioned of a couple of documents, like Saint Brendan's Voyage. It is said that celebrating Easter on their back banishes despair and sadness. I never saw one myself, but daddy says he encountered them before. He says they are big mellow creatures, always gliding at the edge of the horizon, never too near the coast."

"You don't say," Snape replied dully, his eyes turning ahead. His contempt for Xenophilius was growing. He found out the more she talked about imaginary animals, the more it became harder to stomp the urge to call her precious daddy an idiot. It was clear that the reason why Ms. Lovegood had become the way she was- the word disturbed came to his mind-, was due to her father's harebrained influence and lunacy. For the first time, when Snape glanced at her awkward little radish earrings and her oblivious pale eyes, he did not look past them. He felt something akin to pity curl up in his chest.

But the feeling wasn't long lived; twisting his mouth, he quickly squashed it before it could bloom into anything else, like -God forbid- sympathy. He could not afford, nor want to be bosom buddies with the girl. And besides, she was obviously happy in her blissful delusions.

But, the emotion had still left a small impression behind. So when she asked him another question, his mannerisms were a bit softer.

"Can you swim sir?"

"Yes Ms Lovegood, I can." Snape irrevocably blinked away patches of red hair, and shivering lights of a moving creek.

Ms. Lovegood nodded, looking satisfied, "Make sure to be careful."

Snape shot her a strange look, not following on what she meant.

He opened the shiny wooden door of the restaurant with a heavy hand, and held it out for her courteously. The restaurant was small, but it appeared bigger by the strategically placed mirrors, and the interior designers had managed to accentuate the feeling of coziness with dim lights and relaxing pictures. Snape thought he might like the place if his circumstances were different.

They sat on the darkest corner of the place, the secludedness suiting Snape's tastes well. Ms Lovegood ordered fish for herself, and after his unbudging refusal to eat anything, she asked for an earl grey for him.

Snape eased back to his seat, sipping his tea. He listened to the hum of other patrons, his body relaxing gradually. The restaurant was too warm, and his limbs were too heavy. With gilded eyes watched the girl converse with her meal. He failed to see why she insisted on this behavior. Obviously, the fish wasn't going to answer back. Or at least, Snape damn-well hoped it wouldn't, for he knew with these two magic wielding maniacs anything was possible.

Discounting its obvious uselessness, it was possible that there was a spell to make animals talk. Snape resisted a yawn. Did animals even have coherent thoughts to translate?

Well- he could try to formulate the spell. He hadn't done that in a long time.

But before he could decide how to approach the linguistics of Latin, a light tweak in his ear made him hesitate. Snape blinked. Was it him or the hum was growing louder? He looked at the other customers with a sneer. Can't they keep it down a bit?

A grey static rift stretched over the window, and Snape's vision faltered. The corners of the furniture faded, and the pristine image of people desaturated like a greyscale photograph. Snape's breath hitched, and something shot out of the rift, so fast that Snape only caught it briefly as a single frame, that burned to his mind, before it disappeared off to somewhere.

Snape looked away and blinked, and he felt a chilling presence enter his mind. He instinctively raised his occlumency shields, slipping into the familiar cold.

The girl asked him if he was okay. He glared at her. He didn't need her to be observant now, not when he needed to concentrate.

"Professor-" she started. He stopped her with an impatient swipe of his hand.

It was here, in his mind. The thing that assaulted him last night was back. He did not how when it managed to slip in so quickly but he could feel it rummage around his head, trying to poke his memories. Worse, he could not pinpoint where it was exactly to get rid of it. One second it was around his recent thoughts, and then suddenly it gnawed on his childhood memories.

At first there was no pattern to its madness, bu then Snape realized that it lingered around his recent memories for too long, always coming back to poke them after zipping away to another place. Snape gritted his teeth, he needed to slow it down somehow. He imagined a great tank filled with thick dense liquid.

It did not slow the presence down, but it did manage to infuriate it.

 _ _"Where are you!"__

With a painful spike through his mind, it screamed in fury, momentarily giving away its position. Snape lashed out without mercy. Like waves of the ocean, they pushed and pulled in a battle of wills. Until Snape broke away from the cycle to push it away with a burst of magic.

A thin crack formed on the window of the restaurant.

And just like that, it was gone in a second. His vision cleared and the hum faded away.

Snape stood there a moment, panting. He heard the white sounds of cutlery, and he saw the baffled whites of the girl's wide eyes. Snape looked down at his murky drink, and he allowed himself to feel something, something too like fear, and words spilled out his mouth before he could stop them, "The tea is good."

"Is it?" the girl said. When Snape nodded, she remarked, "I'm glad."

Silence filled the gap between the two, and flashes of gray and silver curled around his vision again. Snape tensed. Hoping to distract himself, he continued the small talk.

"Do you come here often?"

Ms. Lovegood blinked up at him, her head tilting to a side, "No, not often. It has been years."

But, Snape wasn't listening, he was watching in quiet horror the way Ms. Lovegood's placid features were demonizing, twisting around a single point like swirling water. He was loosing his grip on reality. Snape sunk his fingers into the table, and felt the wood splinter underneath his hold. It was back. This time it had changed its strategy; it was directly attacking his consciousness.

"Are you sure you are okay, sir?"

"Of course I am." Snape replied a little too quickly. He seemed distracted, distressed even, and he wasn't doing anything to conceal the fact which concerned Ms. Lovegood. His head was swaying like a chanting monk, almost as if he was praying it would pry off the intruder.

Indeed, Ms Lovegood could feel the intruder around him. Magic-Leeching Buzzer Bugs around his head alerted her of the bad intentions of another.

She discreetly pulled her wand out her pocket; and placed it on the table, covering most of it with her arm. With a look on his hunched figure, she cast a anti-muggle charm and Notice-me-not spells. When they were concealed from unwanted eyes, she stood up.

She gingerly touched his shoulder, and he tensed, his hand searching its way up to shook it away. So he was still around. With a steady hand she pushed him on his back. His graying eyes, once as dark as cinder, focused back on her for a single moment before it lost all semblance of humanity.

And Snape was pulled up from his body as darkness rushed in.

oo00oo

Snape found himself in a open field where white trees had let their leaves down. It was so strange here: the values were present so the depth of the place was intact; but everything else, including the sky, lacked any kind of pigmentation. Darker grays represented the grass, lighter grays danced in the water, but no color was present. It reminded Snape of emptiness.

The air was another peculiarity, a much more annoying one than the other. Just like he had imagined before, it was dense and thick like resin; it weighted down at him trying to make him bend over and resisted him when he wanted to move. He tried waving his hands. But it was with difficulty he moved his hands in small gradual movements.

What was once his was now working against him, he thought with frustration.

Snape heard the thing before he saw it. The air's unnatural circumstances caused the sounds to be amplified dramatically, not different how it would be if he were underwater, and it made him feel every single tremor with all his body. Grimacing, he turned as fast as his body allowed.

He raised his head to see it in its full form for the first time.

The creature was looming over a hill a few yards away. Layers and layers of smoke and pitch black tulle covered its shapeless ever-changing form, it was unpleasing and grotesque even to Snape's deprived eye. He glared up at the thing, mustering up his fractured mental defenses as much as he can. When the presence ripped its way through his mind, Snape had lost his ability to occlude. Not once in his life, not even when the Dark Lord had been cruel and angry had Snape been cornered this thoroughly.

With a jolt of cold prickling dread, he realized that this thing was not to be trifled with.

Aware of his unfavorable situation, Snape willed himself to be calm, and called upon the thing.

"Who are you?"

Snape felt himself regarded coldly, then slowly it answered, "I'm sure you've read about me in the Daily Prophet archives; many publications speculated about my actions for many months."

Snape only reaction was a twitch on his brow. The thing paused, tilting its head, "That Ms Lovegood, she is such a nice, _helpful_ little girl, isn't she? It would be such a shame if you were to hurt her accidently."

Snape's eyes narrowed into tiny little slits, and he snapped, "Get to the point, creature. What do you want from me?"

"Want? There is nothing about you that I would want. There is nothing you can give me," it leered, leaning down, "But there was a small mistake made on my part, and now I remedied it."

Snape's mouth twisted with wrath, disliking the cryptic answers. But when he spoke his voice was even, "And what is that supposed to mean."

Ignoring his question, the thing glided towards him like a ghost riding the wind. Snape recoiled back, and he felt a small tick around his neck, preventing him from swallowing properly. His hand shot to his neck, and he craned it, between keeping his attention on the creature and his sudden clogged throat. And he was finally allowed to swallow, sweet air rushing to his lungs. Little he knew it was merely a moment of mercy, before he was violently hauled up into the air like a hanged man, his feet dangling only centimeters above the ground. He choked, his hands gripping empty air.

"That we found each other again, my puppet," it whispered, and static devoured Snape.

oo00oo

"Oh no," said Luna, as she watched Professor Snape's skin decay into a paper-thin membrane. She took a step back, frowning, her wand ready by her side.

Professor Snape, who looked more like a stitched up bone bag of his former self, straightened, his arms limb by his side, his head lolling. He let out a low moan through his clenched and bared teeth.

"Professor, if you can hear me blink twice," she said, dreading the answer. He moaned lightly in response.

Snape got up, swaying dangerously. Luna felt a stab of fear then, as goosebumps traveled down her back. With his uneven, cropped hair obstructing his face and his yellow crooked teeth, he looked downright evil. She didn't know what was wrong with him exactly, but he looked too much like the description of an Inferius on her fifth year textbook. And with a snap second decision she cast a protective bubble around the muggles and a containment spell around them.

Snape stopped, his nose twitching as if he could smell the magic, and the air seem to hold its breath between them, reminiscent of a silence before the storm.

And in a matter of seconds, there was a resounding crackle of bones and a blur of black and white surged towards her.

Snape had lunged at her, his hand flying out like a claw. Luna, her eyes widening in alarm, ducked underneath his arms at the last moment, yelping slightly. His hand broke into the wall with a monstrous crack, and bits of white clay rained over Luna's scrambling form. His shoulders twitching, Snape turned his head to glare at her, groaning threateningly.

He drew his bleeding hand out; the gushing blood ran down his forearm staining his white shirt and his pinky finger now twisted and broken, dangled listlessly. He reached for her again.

But, the attack she expected never came. Snape stilled, his attention suddenly focused on the muggles. Like sunlight through darkness, a bright laugh of a red haired muggle had resonated, and an emotion flickered on his face. He made a move to stumble towards them.

Luna reluctantly pointed her wand at him. Her spell sent a pair of gold ropes spiral forward, and her aim was true; Snape without an ounce of grace toppled down, bound and snarling like an animal.

Her shoulders relaxed when it was clear that he wasn't going anywhere.

She looked at his struggling form mournfully. It was a pity really. She had started like Professor Snape. He listened to her to her today, even though he did so rather grudgingly. And he always asked her to explain what she meant, something most people never did.

All of a sudden, there was a burst of volatile magic, and Snape was free. A halo of gold scattered out when he broke out of her hold.

"Stupefy!" Luna cried.

His body washed in angry red waves, Snape broke through the shield charm.

 **A/N:**

 **PrunusPadus:** Thanks so much for reviewing both chapters, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 **Vani12:** Thanks for your kind words!

 **Nigelcat1:** Thanks for the review!

 **Risi:** Thanks for the review and your kind words! In all reality, it didn't occur to me that Fred would also be raised. Although he isn't in the original template I have for this story, I think it would be fun to include him in too. I can imagine the strange interactions between him, Snape, and Luna. As for Dumbledore, I imagine the security around his tomb to be much stricter. So, no zombie Dumbledore for now unfortunately.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

 **A/N:** Hello everyone! Many thanks to all who've reviewed, followed or liked! And much kudos to my lovely beta hillstar, who's been kind enough to try to salvage my ravings.

I answered all the reviews at the end of the chapter. And as usual, I hope you enjoy the chapter, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

 **Edit** : There were a lot of problematic sentences and typos; woo mama, I am so embarrassed. I edited them all now though :D but I didn't touch the story's flow.

 **Chapter 4**

The shrill tinkle of a glass breaking echoed, and shards of Luna's crippled shield fell away. Her calm if not a little pale face did not let on how peaked she felt in reality. Her magic had not worked against Snape in conventional ways. She had heard that the inferi had an annoying habit of absorbing magic, unless it was an elemental based one, such as fiendfyre or if the magic was utilized to use the environment against the inferi. She wanted to hurt Professor Snape as much as she wanted him to hurt the muggles.

But, something had to be done.

Straightening her spine, she sprinted forward, following Snape out of the crumbling mother of pearl shield. He was leaning against a table, coughing and wheezing out the stress of forcibly breaking the shield; orange juice puddling around his hands which were digging holes into the wood, and the couple who had frequented it before had retreated towards the bar, concealing their distress with angry remarks. Others looked plain baffled. A burly muggle had risen from his seat, his eyes alert.

Luna did not hesitate, "Adprehendimus!" she cried pointing at the muggles. They stilled like little naughty children caught by their parents from their darting eyes to their pale faces. That ought to keep them at bay, Luna thought passingly and she pointed at the table Snape was swaying on, her magic willing the wood to transform and close around him like a cage. The table squeaked and swerved into Snape's hands, and little jutting splinters broke out like opposing waves, but the table did not budge. And the tremors stopped completely.

Her magic had faded away, she could feel it disappear. The more power she put into her spell, the more it vanished into thin air. Why wouldn't her magic work? She wasn't using it at him, surely he couldn't suck her magic from afar, could he?

She let go of the magic or at least tried to. Her wand's core, however, continued to drain her magic against her will. Her power was leaving her.

"What is going on," she started, too startled to care about what Snape was doing.

And something twisted in her heart like a nail, and a dark fear she could not control seem to hold her. Her magic was pouring out of her without control, it poured right out of her wand to his body. Snape looked at her behind his shoulder, his grey filmed eyes glittering with a renewed awareness; a low sinister voice that did not seem to belong to him reached her ears.

"Something wrong? You were so sure of yourself before."

Luna gazed upon him for a moment, she could tell he wasn't Professor Snape: there were small waves of grey aura jumping up from his body and back into his muscles. Snape flexed his back, the bones popping and groaning like old hinges; and spread his arm to either side, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Not in the best condition," he muttered under his breath.

"Let go of him, please," she said, her hand tightening around her useless wand.

"Of course, since you asked so politely, I'll do so immediately," and he suddenly grinned, his tongue flicking out to lick his yellow teeth, its cruel delight made Luna flinch, partially turning towards her, "But- oh, oh no, do you hear? What are the nargles saying? About your impending demise?"

Luna's face remained unaffected, as he broke into a fit of laughter.

"You poor girl," he said, his watered eyes harbored a look that was almost pitying, and the somber undertone of his speech not lost on her, "I cannot let you go."

Before Luna could react, the table was above her, flying to her from his arms, and a moment later his dark form followed behind it. Luna blasted the table away from her with the last of her magic, and Snape or whoever it was, dodged under it and used his hands to propel himself forward towards her.

And the contact came much too soon. He tackled her, and Luna's head slammed into the chair behind her, whites dots flashing in front of her eyes. Her voice was muted when Snape's hands found its way around her neck, and he squeezed with all his might with his knees digging into her gut. Her wand slipped from her fingers and rolled away.

Luna's hold on muggles disappeared, and they ran out in a blind panic. An unlucky man who tripped got trampled by the others until the waiter who was last in line snatched him and dragged him out.

Nobody stopped to help her, and no one spared her choking form a glance. All left, expect the man who had previously been ready to interfere. He stood stock still in his place, his legs twitching in anxiety, almost unsure what to do. But then, surprisingly, he moved forward and gripped Snape's shoulders, and Snape's wrathful attention turned to the poor man.

The pressure on Luna's neck lifted marginally, and she reached for her wand. But it was beyond her reach, it had traveled too far. As Snape turned his attention fully on the muggle, Luna's gilded eyes caught the polished handle of her mother's wand sticking out of her bag just above her head, dangling from the chair she had left. She shakily raised her hand and gripped it.

Wordlessly, she cast her spell: a familiar power that did not belong to her burst out of the wand and a blinding Patronus exploded on Snape's shocked face.

oo00oo

Snape fell onto the grey grass, a warm blue light blessing him. His hands curled around the whimsy dark weeds and pressed his forehead into the ground taking a long raspy breath. So sweet and freeing, he felt the air fill his lungs. He was back here, in the creature's world. It felt good to be alive again.

No, that was incorrect. He hadn't died, he had ceased to exist. The difference was a crucial one, former promised possible salvation while the latter, perhaps in a crude form of mercy, stopped everything altogether. He simply wasn't anymore. He could imagine other forgetting about him in a puff of breath, everything he had done and forged and ruined never happening.

It took him under its bleak wings; and drowned him in nothingness, and mercilessly drained his memories and his self-awareness out. It hadn't been cold, warm or lonely, it had simply been empty. Empty of sensation and thought, the time had frozen, and he had become the void itself.

Erased. Yes, that was the word. That was how it had felt. Snape couldn't help but shudder.

His mind couldn't grasp what he experienced well, as it was hard to exist and non-exist in a quick succession as he did, but he knew one thing to be certain, that he wasn't the only one to suffer in there. For a brief moment, before it devoured him, he had heard their screams fueling the static, and felt their minds brushing against his.

And it became crystal clear to him that it was the necromancer he was dealing with.

Snape raised his head, hate etched on every pore of his being. There, beyond the warmth and light, that abominable creature writhed and coiled, looking strangely diminished and small. It's claw digging into the shield, it dragged them along its circular crevices, looking for a way in. And Snape stood up feeling more powerful than ever, looking down at it with cold fury, enjoying its suffering.

Ms. Lovegood had done something right, it would seem. The only question remained was how long her intervention was going to last. He had to leave this place, and he started feeling around with his mind. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized the creature's domination of his mind had faded. So he focused on his occlumency, and the way to escape appeared as the grey dome above crumbled silently.

But the widening rift froze when the necromancer roared, making the landscape shook alongside its anger, "I will kill her! I will break her!" It thrashed its limbs and slammed its claw onto the shield, a hiss of smoke burned up from the contact, "You! Don't think you've been saved for a second. I will come for you and I will make you snap her neck with your own fingers!"

Snape sneered, "My, you are very loquacious when angered."

It disquieted once more, and its smokey form shifted for a second, and Snape caught the silhouette of a slight humanoid beneath all the mess, "I know everything, Snape." He could hear the venom dripping from its voice, "I know your deepest darkest fears, your despicable little ego, your little obsession with a long-dead woman and I know what you've done for your Dark Lord. But those don't mean much to you, right? Your most important secret had been let out to the public, your finances gone, you had lost your chance to succeed in life years ago. You don't care about yourself anymore. You are 'dead' after all." It stopped for a reaction, but Snape did not flinch. Then it casually leaned into the light like it didn't burn it, before continuing, "Indeed, Snape, those are not of great importance next to what I've learned from your mind."

Snape scowled.

It crooned, "You've given away their locations."

"What loc-" Instantly, Snape cut himself off. It meant the Lovegoods, it knew where Lovegoods lived. Snape was now glowering at the creature, daring it to continue.

"Not only the Lovegoods. I know every single address of every single person you've ever visited. Potter, McGonagall, anyone you can think of. I can go and visit them-" its voice fell into a sinister whisper, "-one by one. You are not escaping me, Snape. Remember that."

Snape leaned down to its level, and retorted coldly, "I think it is prudent for one to remember that when the table has turned it is best to keep quiet. As it is, you are nothing more than a barking dog. If you are that influential take care of the Ministry first, fool, because as far as I can see you are nothing more than a weakling who hides behind layers of illusion like a street magician. You may be confident, foolishly so, that we will meet once more; but you will not penetrate my mind ever again. And you should remember that."

It started to laugh, "Oh, you are very precarious, aren't you? Such an arrogant child."

Snape couldn't help but twist his lips with rancor, but he paid it no heed this time. He instead continued to work his way out of the pocket dimension the necromancer had created. This place was of an of strange disposition, a complex layering of individual projections seem to hold the place together, bound together by a single column of intent, almost like a book. Even though Snape had never been in a situation like this, he could reason that if he were to poison that running line of intent with another thought, he could take out this whole place. Or at least, he hoped it would. He let his magic sneak through the thin folds and reach out to that main column, and he commanded it to obey him. But it wouldn't budge, unsurprisingly, as the creature's mind seemed to protect it.

"Ah, finally."

The satisfaction in its voice was unmistakable and Snape's head snapped back at it. His heart jumped to his throat when he saw its claws slowly gouging the light away, "Do continue your little trip, puppet, familiarize with your surroundings, you'll be here for a long time-" It trailed on, turning its head to a side. It looked like it was listening to something and its mannerisms gave Snape the strange impression that it was worried. When it spoke again, its voice had chilled down a few notches, "No matter."

And in that brief moment, the creature's will wavered and Snape legilimency worked. His magic slipped into the workings, the core of the creature's world. The process felt disgusting; his mind was neither here with the creature nor there, beyond the domain of the fake sky above. It was almost as uncomfortable as it had been forcing into another's mind, Snape thought as his mind ground beyond the metaphysical barrier the creature had formed around. And he quickly realized that he wasn't that far off; the intent wasn't a separate thought from the creature's mind, but it was its entire being, and he was in its thoughts.

And Snape can sense it didn't like that one bit.

Inside things were a bit strange. The creature's mind did not seem to work in the same way most people's did. There was a vicious cycle of thoughts, where scheming and anger were blurred together in a flurry of red; while the other thoughts, emotions, and memories were muted and dumbed down, buried under a layer of old apathy.

It was something Snape did sometimes, on specific memories, just so he can rest in peace for a while. So, he suspected that it was the creature's way off occluding. Perhaps it was a reflex of its mind to his intrusion. But, he knew that it was something to suppress important information and something else to suppress one's own being. The latter was too hard to handle, and it required too much time and magic. Snape could hardly believe how the creature wasn't spitting rabid yet.

Alas, its mind was weary and old, and whatever bothered it before worked well in Snape's favor.

And Snape was determined. Either the necromancer was going to let him go willingly, or Snape was going to destroy both their minds.

As the dark hands of the creature surrounded his mind, a dark pleasure curled inside him, and Snape unleashed his mayhem. Pain and anger came to him easily, he let the emotions burn its way in its mind, unknowingly freeing his body in the grey world of the necromancer, and it started dispersing like fume and smoke. And he persevered, despite how much the other slashed upon his skin, no matter how it hurt to see his deepest insecurities thrown to his face; his spite and aversion bested them all, and he continued on digging deeper.

And deeper. Where shots of broken backs and sea salt haunted Snape even though he had never seen them.

And deeper. Where there was no escape from its despair as the chains tinkled cruelly. They, the necromancer had chanted over and over-Snape didn't know who-, didn't care about them. Any of them.

Until beneath all that suffocating pervasiveness of its madness, Snape reached a clearing formed of pure light. Where all those lost souls he had felt before dangled in endless inertia where nothing moved. He saw their turmoil and felt their suffering. They were formless, but their souls -he wasn't sure what they were exactly- spoke to him, urged him, and begged him.

Free us. Save us.

Free us save us save us.

Saveusendusendusenduendus

Snape like the dagger of Argos struck right into them.

A barrage of fear rose from the necromancer, chiming like a chapel bell, and suddenly Snape was pulled away. He was falling down, tearing down the layers, and necromancer's mind faded away.

And only an impression, which had been thrown at him just before he was forced back into his body remained with him.

oo00oo

When Professor Snape shifted slightly in his unconscious state, Luna felt a trickle of dread run down her back. She relinquished her spell and set the muggle man gently on the cold grimy ground of the back alley sufficiently away from the bustling high street.

Her magic was back. After the patronus had let her break free from his, whoever he was, hold. She wasn't too sure though, perhaps, she dared to hope, it had something to do with her mother's wand and less with the spell she used. Perhaps Pandora Lovegood had left something other than burned potion papers and a broken home. Luna pulled out the wand again, her own disappearing into her pocket.

It was as thin and dark as it always has been. She now realized, the polish that shimmered softly under the midday sun, was chipped in the middle, and the elegant woodwork of its handle was still intact despite years of disuse.

The unbidden feeling of yearning aided her arm up and Luna once again cast a patronus. This time her familiar hare jumped out of the tip and settled itself on his chest. Snape's breath hitched and he cracked an eye open, before bolting back in fright. His head hit the wall he had been propped against with a dull thunk. He let a cranky hiss, and shifted minimally, just before the pain of his mangled hand registered. Dominated by the agony he heard himself shout, "Miss Lovegood!"

His bewildered eyes were once more dark as coals, and his sallow skin was a pasty shade of beige. Normal and humane, just like before. Luna's thin frame relaxed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Welcome back, Professor Snape," she replied smilingly.

"What happened to my hand?" he demanded, fueled by the anger that pain had stirred up.

"Oh, right," she murmured absently, feeling foolish. After a quick Ferula, Snape's broken bones snapped straight as bandages spun around them, holding them tightly together. Blood splattered out dramatically, but it was not nearly dramatically as Snape's agonized yelp.

Luna shifted her weight from one foot to another. Nobody spoke for a moment.

"Are you planning to explain things anytime soon?" he snapped. Luna guessed his pain must have subsided marginally. Then his tone changed into a scornful one, "Who on earth is that man?"

"He is a muggle-" Snape grunted impatiently, cradling his hand, "-And you've been possessed."

"Yes, yes, I aware of that," he cut in, "What did I do? Did I hurt you, or anyone else?"

"Well- you weren't particularly nice to me, but nobody was seriously injured," she said, her voice no longer possessed its dreamy quality, Snape noticed, "I had to get you, and him-" she pointed at the knocked out muggle "-out before ministry officials arrived at the scene. Who will-"

"Check on the muggles' memories," Snape finished, with a bad taste in his mouth. More quietly he continued, "And I'll be exposed."

"I suppose so if they can find them." Snape's eyes flashed at her face. She explained, "You see, sir, they all ran out in a panic midway, so I think the worst we might have to deal with is the polize?"

"Police," Snape corrected.

"Yes, that, but the muggles did see me cast a spell, so I cannot be sure," she said with a frown teasing her brows, "Oh, I hope we won't be in too much trouble."

Snape rubbed his face with his uninjured hand, resting his other arm on his knee, "And I suppose that man wasn't there with you simply as a souvenir?"

"Oh, he tried to help, but got caught in my patronus," she sat next to him, "It was too much magic for him, I guess."

"Patronus?"

"Yes, the only spell that worked on you was the Patronus charm. It blasted whatever presence controlled you."

So, that was what the shield was, Snape thought, remembering the clear blue bubble that separated him from the creature in the grey world. But why would a Patronus save him? There were few things a Patronus was good at banishing dementors, sending messages and resisting Dark Magic. Obviously, the necromancer was using dark magic, controlling the dead was a particularly vile subsection of it. But, that wasn't what concerned him. How Ms. Lovegood's Patronus here in the real world, had affected the imaginary world the necromancer had constructed in its mind was the real question. Indirectly, if he were to stretch, it implied necromancer was made of Dark Magic, but that made no sense to him.

"How about I tell you everything back home, sir? I don't think to stay here is a good idea."

Snape looked down at the dribbling muggle and his bloodied shirt, his face tight.

Indeed, they weren't inconspicuous at all.

"The muggle," said he slowly, with a ghost of a humorless smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "Give me your wand, girl. I'll take care of him."

And Snape low drawl of Obliviate illuminated the dark alleyway.

oo00oo

"You suspect it was your mother's wand that protected you," Snape said, raising his voice to make himself clear over the hum of the boiling teapot and Ms. Lovegood's rummaging from the cupboard. They were back in the Lovegood residence, sitting at the kitchen table. His broken hand was dipped in a clear bowl dittany, placed on the kitchen table. He could see the way the broken skin mended away in little red blood clots until hopefully, only rows of uneven bones would remain under his skin. He would have to heal them himself then with regular wandwork. He didn't trust Ms. Lovegood enough to perform the spell.

The sweet smell of tea wafted over their heads as Miss Lovegood filled their cups and also the empty parts in her narrative. She sat back down.

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

She hesitated, "Kind of."

"'Kind of' is not enough, girl, tell me what happened again. Be more specific this time."

There was a silence while Miss Lovegood contemplated her answer. Her hands fiddled with freshly cut herbs.

"My magic was gone, sir, you- the necromancer, you said?- took it away from me," she dropped a calendula into the dittany, "And when I was -well down, so to speak, my wand rolled away from my reach. I then used my mother's wand and even though I had no magic left, the charm worked."

"Why did you choose that spell, Ms. Lovegood?" he inquired, leaning in, "Was there something about the situation that prompted you?"

"I- I cannot tell, Professor, I don't know. But I can tell you confidently that I didn't cast it consciously though," she said, "And I felt-" She stopped, her mouth working in a rare gesture of nervousness.

"What did you feel, Ms. Lovegood?" encouraged Snape.

"I don't know what I felt," she said, suddenly standing up, "I probably did it myself, please forget what I said. Let me refresh your dittany, this one is getting bloodied."

Snape stared at her withdrawing back, a sneer threatening to break out on his lips. This kind of foolishness was endangering him. He was going to learn exactly what protected enough for him to act. And he wouldn't shy from using anyway, including using legilimency on the girl to get to the bottom of it. He might have on this round but Snape wasn't one to leave a thing on chance or fate.

Ms. Lovegood came back with a clean bowl and a few bottles, while a towel dangled down her arm. She gently guided Snape's hand off the liquid to the towel. She took the bowl and placed it by the sink.

"Would you mind if I turn on the radio, sir?"

"No," he said gruffly, too busy inspecting his hand. It was still as limp as a dead fish out of the water.

And the anchorwoman's agitated voice piped up, and Ms. Lovegood's hand froze over the gadget, "-the Ministry is yet to be cleaned completely. But Auror's believe it is safe to move people out of the building. Series of muggle repelling charms have placed around the parameter-"

"Ms. Lovegood, crank the volume up," Snape said.

"-is unclear how many casualties there are. But- Oh, we are getting new information. Yes- yes-" she cleared her throat, " It seems the inferi, around a horde of hundred strong, has been restricted to the Department of Mysteries, the other stragglers are currently being cleaned off-"

Snape was on his feet. Ms. Lovegood recoiled back as if she were burned.

"And the evacuation process has started, yes- we can see the first ones leave the doors with the Aurors. To those who are listening, this is a state of emergency. It is of utter importance for citizens to stay away from crowded public places, cemeteries, and places of high magical power-"

Ms. Lovegood's pale lips soon parted, "My father is in the ministry. He was-" she gulped, "he was supposed to interview the minister."

No, Snape hadn't won after all.

"I repeat, do not remain in crowded public areas, or cemeteries-"

 **A/N:**

Son of Whitebeard: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

risi: Thanks for the review and your kind words! Although I don't want to give away the storyline, I safely say that you are getting very close to what I have in mind, so much kudos to you :D Unfortunately, I never watched Star Trek, but I agree with what you say, I would imagine Dumbledore much more sparkly than Smokey. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

PrunusPadus: Thanks so much for the review! You are quite right about the genres, sorry! I wasn't actually going for this kind of intensity in the beginning. I was actually aiming for a mellow character development based story: 'D But, no worries, this is the last chapter to have a theme like this for now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!


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